The Last Piece
by Ravyntree
Summary: The last piece of what? Friendship? Love? Something less than what they were before?


Every fight, every battle, every previous moment.. all brought down to this. The end. He never thought it would close like this. Not after all the persecution, the investigating, the pursuing.. How could he end up the victim? He, the one whom was after the other. His enemy had finally beaten him, and it was only a matter of time before he was found and finished off.

He curled in slightly, coughing. Blood speckled his lips and the ground besides as he did, and he felt his injuries deep down. They were bad, but not bad enough to kill him. Not right away.

The world swirled in brilliant colors like he had never seen before. He reflected on death silently as he waited in the alleyway, curled between two trashcans like a homeless animal. It was upon him, surely, and he dared not deny it.

The pain seemed to come and go in waves, rising up to crash down on him, pounding his mind with sensory overload and then drawing back to coil for another strike. He closed his eyes and clutched a hand around his abdomen, pressing his palm against the freely-bleeding wound there. Even with his fingers splayed he could not cover the entire gash. It cut unrestricted, and he felt his stomach twist as his index slipped into the wound, touching steaming, almost burning-hot organs. He quickly closed his fingers tightly together and shifted to his back to press the other hand to the wound, covering the wound but not stopping the blood from squeezing around and between his fingers.

A moan slipped from his pale lips and he was forced to turn to his side, curling in again as his stomach revolted against the injuries. He feared losing his insides, so he kept his hands firmly in place.

0pening his eyes, one of which he could already feel beginning to blacken, he blinked hazily at the trashbin across the way and reflected on his shameful retreat from the battle which brought on his agony. He had fought gallantly, for once not backing down or being easy as he so previously had been. He had hurt the other, and hurt him bad. But not fatally. He couldn't. It had been seven years since their first encounter, and in all those years he knew he had the upper hand. The advantage. He could kill his enemy at any moment he so chose, but he didn't. Not since he first laid eyes on him had he tried so hard to murder the other. This time though.. this time they had gone too far. 0ne blow too harshly and then he stumbled back, gasping. His abdomen sliced open. He had watched his blood dripping from the blade in the other's hand, and they both seemed surprised for just a moment.

Then he fled. His enemy had awaited his next move with a rage he had never seen before, eyes gleaming darkly as blood ran down the side of his face from the misplaced strike he had taken.

He regretted that. He hadn't meant to hurt him that badly, and even now, as he lay dying in the cold alleyway, he wondered if the other was alright.

How long had he been here? It felt like days, but surely couldn't have been much more than minutes.

A trail, he knew he had left a trail of blood behind him. The enemy hadn't followed right away. He didn't look back to see, but he knew they would have been upon him by now if they had followed.

Closing his eyes again, he curled in a little tighter and shivered, growing steadily colder. He could feel the flow slowing as his body had not much more to give. His insides began to pain him everywhere as they were depraved of oxygen, sucking it off each other and killing him faster.

His dignity was gone, vanished just as quickly as it had ever come. He would die in this alleyway and found by someone, most likely his enemy. His body would be found and they would—

A shadow interrupted his piteous thoughts. Shifting his blank gaze up, he blinked slowly.

"Hello Zim." That voice, so cruel and clearly portraying a complete lack of mercy.

Dib stepped closer and crouched beside him, looking over the alien's fallen form with a smirk. Blood had dried to the side of his face and neck, smeared in places where he had wiped at it. He, too, donned a black eye and part of his coat was torn around the shoulder.

Zim stared up at him, unable to speak even if he wanted to.

"You knew I would beat you one of these days," Dib smirked. Zim closed his eyes and couldn't help the smile that twitched the corners of his lips.

"What? Do you think that's funny?" Cold steel pressed beneath Zim's chin, pushing his head up to expose his throat.

"How about this, is this funny too?"

Zim squeezed his eyes shut. He could hear his PAK whirring, working hard to assist his failing system. Dib chuckled, and the blade was removed.

"Yeah, try to hold it together until you reach the autopsy table. Can't have your alien organs spilling in an untimely manner." He rose, sheathing his blade.

"You just stay right here while I make a few calls." He left, walking to the end of the alleyway and around the corner to a payphone. Zim's blood was already drying on the sidewalk, but Dib wasn't concerned about any nosy people, seeing as it was dead of night.

An untimely manner. Zim decided on those words what he had to do. Gathering strength from the precious life-supporting reserves in his PAK, he forced himself up, slouching against one of the cans. He began crawling from between the cans using one hand. The other did precious little, and by force of will he kept himself from vomiting as he felt his inside slipping around his hand. After he crawled a short distance from his previous place he glanced down. A rope of pinkish-grey hung from his opened abdomen, trailing behind and dragging in the filthy alley. He slid his hand into the wound, feeling his stomach as it clenched weakly. He didn't have the strength to be sick as he pulled it out, dropping it onto the ground as he collapsed to his side.

Dib returned to a sight that would haunt the rest of his nights. Zim looked up at him, stared piercingly into his eyes as he pulled his own organs from his body, spilling them to the ground one after another. Dib stared, in shock, mouth agape. He had drawn his knife to threaten and tease the Irken with more, and it slid from his hand, clattering to the ground and adding a harsher sound to the liquidy slop that filled the alley.

Zim choked, looking away as he rested his head against the ground and spat blood from his mouth. Turning his head, he gazed up at Dib sightlessly, his world growing blacker with every weak pulse of his PAK. His lips twitched again as he touched the button on his wrist.

The explosions jarred Dib from his shocked state, bringing out instinct as he ducked and covered his head with his hands. He lowered his arms slowly and stared at the alley. Something caught his eye and he stepped over blood and gore to where a piece of metal was embedded in the wall. Taking hold of it, he pulled it free with some effort and looked down at the burning-hot, charred piece. He used his coat sleeve to wipe the black away, and leaned against the wall as purple gleamed underneath.

He slipped the piece into his pocket and turned to go home, having nothing more to do.

At home, he set the piece on his windowsill and there it stayed.


End file.
